An Old Man Walks Into a Batting Cage

The following took place on my 40th birthday…

A 40 year old man sidles up to a batting cage counter.

“Slow pitch?”, says the late teens, early twenty something lad on the other side.

“Fast pitch, please.”, I reply, not quite taking offense.

“We don’t have fast pitch softball here.”

Now I was offended.

“Baseball, please.”

He didn’t seem to understand.

I added, “A bucket of 50 balls.”

“We don’t have that option anymore.”

“Then what are your rates?”, my Peter Pan complex generally keeps me from feeling old but I was this close to calling this kid a whipper snapper.

He pointed to the sign on the counter. Direct customer service at its finest. I suppose I would have seen the sign before asking the question if I wasn’t such an old man.

$15 for 15 minutes.

The 30 minute rate was unreasonable. So was the idea of me swinging a 34 ounce bat for a rhythmic half hour.

“Ok, I’ll take the 15.”, and I paid the man (?). My change would not be going towards the dusty, yet more prominently featured than the rates ‘TIPS WELCOMED’ sign.

“How fast?”, the kid asked.

Was that a smirk?

Boy, would I love to show him I could hit 80 mph dimpled, rubber balls with an aluminum bat.

“65, please. Thank you.”, I said with some resignation.

And so my training for Fantasy Camp had begun at the end of October 2014.

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